The General's Honour
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: General of the Marine Corps William Krieger, first and only five-star general in the history of the USMC, is about to be relieved of his command of the Marine Corps and Mindgate, and placed under arrest for overstepping his authority. He does not plan on going quietly.
1. Chapter 1- Standing Relieved

**Chapter I- Standing Relieved**

* * *

William Krieger ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, leaning back in the leather chair that had been a fixture in his office for the past ten years. Brought from somewhere in Europe, the chair had followed Krieger through the labyrinthine mazes of the Pentagon and on to the headquarters of the Marine Corps in Quantico, Virginia. Krieger had been in the Corps for over forty years, and had been the man in charge of the Psi-operations division of the United States government, Mindgate, for a full decade. He'd received more than fifty decorations, including some thirteen solely for combat actions, and become a qualified Marine parachutist and naval aviator. From his actions as a young captain on the battlefields that lined the road to victory in Korea and Vietnam to his personally commanding the 1st Marine Division when it invaded Libya in 2003, William Krieger had not taken long in becoming a household name. Upon his promotion to Brigadier General he was already famous, a rising star in the Marines. By the time he received his fourth star, he was truly famous, a household name in the United States. By the time he received his fifth, he was a legend.

Krieger's hair was as short as any Parris Island DI's, and he still went on a three-mile run and did a hundred pushups without stopping every morning. He was still lean and mean, and few would dare point out that he was slowly becoming an older Marine. Krieger's scarred, almost leathery face, normally tough-looking and solemn, twisted unpleasantly when he thought of getting old. If age- or death- ever expected to come for William Krieger one day, they'd both better come armed. Some journalist had once found a predecessor's remark about Teddy Roosevelt; the one about how "death had to take him sleeping; if it had tried to take him awake there would have been a fight."

William Krieger had seen that remark applied to him by a few journalists since that discovery had been made; many generations of American boys had posters of Krieger on their walls, in full glory with his dress blues and medals. Lots of medals. And countless boys had looked up at the stern, undefiable image of General of the Marine Corps William Krieger and thought with a special kind of awe: If death tries to take him sleeping, he'll get ambushed before he gets to the bedroom.

Yes, William Krieger had been quite a hero to the American people, an icon of how no other military in the world could do for even a day what the United States Marine Corps did for a living. But things were different now. Krieger's life was taking a new direction, one that was forcing him to leave the Corps behind.

That brought Krieger's mind back to the how and why of his still sitting in his large but spartan Quantico, Virginia at 2120 at night. Krieger had worked late before, but this was different. Even glancing in the heavy oak door to the General's office, one would have known that immediately. He sat behind the large wood desk, the reading over the framed citation for his first Navy Cross, the one that had set him on the road to being hailed as the Corp's Patton, the greatest Marine since Chesty Puller.

There was nothing else on his desk, though, save a pair of desk-sized flags, one for the US and one for the Corps, on the left and right corners. Normally, there would have been paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. There would have been a stack labeled IN and another for OUT, and a desk lamp for when the General was working late into the night. But while Krieger had tolerated paperwork during his years as a general in the Marines, during the Second Korean War- and the war with China that followed it- he had tired of it now.

Some of his many files and papers had been burned tonight, the ashes swept away into the trash can beside Krieger's desk. All the rest sat, neatly ordered, in the many file cabinets that lined the wall behind the Corps' first five-star officer. Krieger had earned his rank, earned his four years as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and nomination to simultaneously command the Corps and Mindgate. For a time, it seemed that William Krieger, a man who personified the grizzled, tougher-than-hell's-demons image a Marine officer was supposed to project, would just keep on rising. It had looked like he would keep climbing up, keep achieving new heights of greatness and continue to be rewarded with greater and greater glory.

But then some Senator, some son of a bitch from Ohio who had never fired a weapon in his life, had gotten up in Congress one day and said a general- even The General- holding such power in both the Corps and the US Government was unlawful… or that it should be. And right at the same time, about a year or two ago, somebody else had asked why the hell Mindgate even existed anymore. The Soviets were gone, and Red China beaten, kept closely in check by strong, pro-American governments in both a united Korea and Vietnam. Why, both these politicians and an increasing number had asked, was a general, any general, holding such immense power when five-star officers were clearly no longer needed? General Krieger had struggled- all but physically fought with himself- to keep from climbing over the table and punching the hell out of all those fatcats in their fancy suits during the Congressional hearings that had followed.

Peter Ferguson, Chairman of the Armed Forces Subcommittee, had recognized the highly-decorated general's contempt for the politicians. He'd even had the gall to taunt Krieger at times, to try to bring his hatred for bureaucrats out and just add to the evidence more and more being used to dig the grave of William Krieger's career.

The fact that Marines the world over loved Krieger and would follow him anywhere only made Ferguson dislike the general more- and it made some start to wonder. And whisper. Word was starting to get around that The General, once a household name for the best of reasons and the hero and idol of many, held more power than perhaps any one man ever should. With simultaneous five-star rank and command of the Marine Corps and Mindgate, he was the undisputed leader of thousands of death-dealing Devil Dogs who obeyed him without question… and of hundreds of men, women and children whose most powerful members could lift trains and set forests ablaze- all without ever moving a finger. By the time those hearings were going on in 2002, questions were getting asked. And not the kind that went on in the halls inhabited by those overpaid fools in Congress, either- people, even in the public, were starting to whisper. People were starting to wonder if Krieger would never be satisfied with power as a general in the Marine Corps, and decide he wanted to become President… whether the people voted for him or not. Some members of the public, no longer merely that son of a bitch Ferguson and his buddies leading the witchhunt, were starting to whisper that William Krieger might be a dangerous man.

Krieger was famous for his remark, made when he was personally leading the assault on Tripoli in 2000. A reporter, braving the roar of the choppers and the not-so-distant tanks and artillery fire, had asked Krieger what he thought of all the killing and maiming going on at that very moment. Krieger, staring off towards the battle he yearned to be in the middle of at that very instant, had shrugged under the weight of his Kevlar vest and helmet. "I don't believe in sending men to kill and maim- I do believe in leading men into battle myself, so I can kill and maim alongside them."

Major General Krieger had added that war was indeed hell as Sherman had said, and that the only way a Marine knew how to fight was by raising hell as much as possible, with the responsibility of the officers being to lead the hell-raising. But it was his first words that the reporter focused on in his column the next day, and it was those words that were still famous. General William Krieger had become "Death-Dealing Krieger", the "Mad Dog", the commander who liked wading right into the thick of battle himself so he could raise hell beside his men. Krieger had not much cared for either nickname, but his men had taken to both, and certainly his popularity with Marines had only gone up once his personal participation in battles in Libya became public.

The paperwork was all locked up tonight for one reason- William Krieger had no need for it anymore. Someone else would have to be chosen to occupy this office, starting tomorrow. Krieger had devoted his life to the Corps, and gained as much power as any Marine ever born had held in it. But that was coming to an end. The Corps would have to carry on without him, and soon.

Reverently referred to as "The General" with a capital T even in his presence, Krieger awed lesser men- and countless Marines- with his presence. He'd been an officer his whole career, yet he swore and loathed paperwork, bureaucracy, and vain, incompetent officers as much as any private. He'd hidden the vast heaps of promotions, general orders and so many other things tonight for the same reason he now had the citation for his first Navy Cross on his desk. Krieger wanted that framed piece of paper, bearing an image of the medal above the paragraphs describing his selfless act during the Battle of Hanoi- an act which included but did not end with Krieger personally disabling three enemy tanks- to prove a point. Krieger wanted those sons of bitches who were trying to bring him down, to deprive him of the power he'd spent a lifetime trying to build, to come in here tomorrow and see it. He wanted everyone to remember the magnificent soldier they'd once hailed William Krieger to be, and to realise, in time, how foolish they'd been in throwing his talent away.

Mindgate had been the catalyst, the straw that broke the camel's back. In investigating the mysterious and secretive government agency, members of the FBI had stumbled across incontrovertible evidence that General Krieger was not only refusing to in any way curb the agency's operations or funding, but actually increasing it through funds that by all rights didn't exist. The General had been unveiled as a criminal, a man who disobeyed his orders and pursued an agenda all of his own making. That had finished him in the eyes of the Committee, and the public had howled for his head.

Images flashed through his mind, most notably today's- July 17th, 2003- with the words "KRIEGER DISMISSED!" thundering at the top of the Washington Post's front page.

Krieger had left a meeting with the President just the previous morning. The Commander-in-Chief had told Krieger, in no uncertain terms, that he was going up against charges for overstepping his authority. It might be better, Krieger had been told, if he took the retirement he'd been staving off for so long. Krieger had refused- he would never let go of the Corps until he'd got what he wanted from Mindgate. He was close. So damn close… but the FBI finding the evidence of his actions had forced Krieger's hand. Krieger refused to step down, so the President had fired him. Too bad. Krieger hadn't voted for the man anyway.


	2. Chapter 2- No Surrender

**Chapter II- No Surrender**

* * *

It was 2200 exactly when the two Marine MP's, pistols at their belts, marched smartly into The General's office. He'd left the door open, and was expecting them. Krieger didn't even look up from his framed Navy Cross citation when one of them said, "General William Krieger?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been in the Marine Corps, son?

The young corporal went ahead, as dispassionately as he could, "We have orders to place you under arrest, sir, on grounds of your having committed treason against the Government of the United States."

Ignoring the young Marine, Krieger said, half to himself, "A lifetime. Forty years is as long as most people used to live. It's all the good years you get; after that, it's a slow, downhill slide."

"I'm going to have to ask you to stand up, sir. You're under arrest."

Krieger stood, setting down the citation and facing the MPs. "Marines, I want to ask each of you a question. Do you think I'm a traitor?"

"Sir," the sergeant on the right said, "You're under arrest."

Krieger could see the reluctance of the two enlisted men; he could tell they hated having to do this. It was like being sent to arrest the reincarnation of Chesty Puller. William Krieger's exploits were legend, and he was idolized by every Marine coming into the Corps. Nobody had backed The General up more solidly through even these dark days of late than the United States Marines.

"I'm not asking you men," Krieger said, his gravelly, rough voice taking on a sterner note. "I'm _ordering_ you. Answer my fucking question!"

The corporal's face paled; he had never, ever in his life expected he'd one day be sent to arrest a five-star general, the legendary "Death-Dealing" Krieger. This man was his hero.

Finally, the corporal gave up. "I don't think you're a traitor, sir," he said quietly.

"Williams!" the first sergeant in charge of the MP detail snapped. "We've got our orders!" he glanced briefly at Krieger, doing his best to stay detached from the situation. Suddenly, perhaps without even thinking about it, First Sergeant Hendricks laid a hand on his sidearm.

"You're going to have to come with us, General. _Now_." The noncom put an edge of steel into his voice.

The General drew himself up to his full height, staring the two Marines down with his steely gaze. He was every inch the great William Krieger, every fiber The General defending his myth. "Every man knows there are limits to power," Krieger said. "Except those who refuse to be bound by the rules. A general is limited, a president held in check… but a _god_ can and will never be stopped."

The two Marine enlisted men stared, wide-eyed, at the third Marine on the other side of the desk. The General was facing them down with a look so severe, it was as if he was the one coming to arrest them.

It was their hesitation, that moment where they paused, that gave The General the edge he needed. He was lean and mean as hell, but at well past fifty years old he was nonetheless an older Marine. Young Marines, still at the height of their manhood, had some measure of a chance now at defeating The General in a fight… if they got the first move. But because the two enlisted men paused, they didn't.

And that meant The General would win.

His mouth flattening into a line, Krieger vaulted over his desk and flung himself, full force, at the Marine First Sergeant. The senior NCO reacted quickly, realizing the great second coming of Chesty Puller was not going to submit to a bureaucrat's order of arrest. He drew his firearm but simply moved an instant too late; Krieger was a powerful man even at his age, a fighter of incredible gifts. He was powerful, awe-inspiring even in almost every possible way- except for Psi. But Krieger knew that before long, something could be done to change that.

That was why he could not surrender, why he had never even considered giving up when he knew the MP's would soon be coming to arrest him. Krieger had outgrown the need to adhere to a single nation's laws, or to obey a President's orders to bring an extravagant and dangerous Psi program to heel. He had transcended the limits of any ordinary man's conception of power.

Any _mortal_ man's conception of power.

The General simply could not, would not be stopped. His will was not to be denied. He had found a path to the greatest heights of glory and power imaginable… and no one, absolutely no one would stand in his way.

The General slammed his fist into the First Sergeant, shattering the man's jaw and breaking his neck once the two men hit the floor of the office. Not wasting a second, Krieger rolled and got to his feet, preparing for a classic bear-hug tackle, just like his football coach had taught him in William Krieger's days at Annapolis. Even then, he'd been a soldier of impressive ability, strong, fast, and easily able to project the kind of voice that could rise above the din of battle and motivate men to fight.

The corporal had his pistol out and fired, but he was clearly quite shocked; the shot whizzed just past the General's shoulder, so close Krieger felt the hot air blow past the instant the bullet did.

Krieger sprang forward, snapping up the fallen senior NCO's sidearm and shooting the young corporal through the throat.

Corporal Jason Williams staggered on his feet and fell over backwards; he crashed to the floor, wide-eyed and uttering incoherent, pained noises as he choked on his own blood. The M9 pistol fell from his hand, and he stared up in fear and wonder, his eyes pleading Why? as the General stood over him.

Krieger held out the sidearm, his eyes hard and his face grim. But after a moment, his expression softened slightly. The five-star Marine general knelt by the dying corporal, his expression almost one of regret.

Almost.

"Where I'm going, son… you can't follow." Krieger said quietly, then shot the boy in the head.

Krieger stood and glanced outside; the steady roar of an experimental XFV-24 Super Osprey's jet engines could be heard in the distance, getting closer every second as the helicopter flew low over the ground. They were right on time.

The Super Osprey had been one of Krieger's best proposals, a craft of his own design. He had done the blueprints and specs all by himself, checking the numbers against the standard V-22 and ensuring the flaws holding it back from becoming the outstanding VTOL craft it deserved to be were fixed by the new design. The Corps had loved it, even building a handful of prototypes; but naturally the bureaucrats had argued it was not really needed, a helicopter too expensive to be justified by its merits. Krieger considered making his departure in that grand new ship of his to be just another way of telling the big-wig pencil-pushers in DC just what William Krieger really thought of them.

Krieger advanced down the hallway outside his office after closing the eyes of the two MPs he had killed; he regretted killing Marines, but no one, not even a Marine MP just doing his duty, could be allowed to get in the way. Krieger moved cautiously down the hallways of his empty headquarters, pistol at the ready as he made his way downstairs and towards the front doors. Through the shaded glass Krieger could see the Super Osprey hovering, preparing to set down; the Marine MPs outside had brought three Humvees with them, and about half of the men stood guard over the disarmed other half.

The General stepped confidently outside, once again perfectly calm and as always totally in control. He raised his arms as he holstered the sidearm, calling to the Marines in his deep, rough voice, made rough by so many years of shouting orders on the training field or in battle, "Marines!"

"Sir!" The Marine Captain in charge of the MP detail spun on his heel, moved to face Krieger and saluted crisply. He looked Krieger straight in the eye, the admiration plain on his face. "Sir," the captain said, "we're with you."

Krieger sternly returned the salute, then shook hands with the captain. "You've made the right choice, Marine," he said. He meant it. Where he was going, he would need some to follow; a general could never hope to be much without troops. But in time… in time, he would need followers no longer. Because everyone would be following his orders. Until that day, though, General Krieger knew he needed a few good men. There was a lot yet to do, a lot of work to be done. The factory on the Black Sea, the 'empty' missile silo in Western Kazakhstan, and most of all the dark, mysterious cavern, beneath the monastery in the Himalayas… all of those were places the General had an interest. And all of them would need to be attended to; they'd all need loyal men guarding them.

The General knew this captain wanted to join those ranks. He wanted to join the new Corps, the one William Krieger was leading, wherever it was going to go.

A few of the Marine MPs had known the Super Osprey was coming; they waved it in and the VTOL landed, dropping its gear and setting down on the lawn of the headquarters of the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps. The ramp dropped, and as a few of the Marines moved towards it, a man in a lavender suit- a man of great height and impressive size- stepped out. The Marines halted at a respectful distance, turning to stand guard over the ramp.

"Your stylish exits leave a lot to be desired where time is concerned, _General_," the tall, dark-skinned man said by way of greeting. He spoke respectfully, but was clearly mindful of the fact that the whole base would soon be on alert.

Krieger was oddly amused by the thought that he, an enthusiastic Naval Aviator his whole career in the Corps, might get shot down by other Marine flyers, pilots he'd trained and probably knew by name. But that would only happen if he moved too slowly; the General knew better than to make such mistakes.

"We're done here," the General said simply. "Those jets won't take off unless they're told."

"And the sooner we are off the ground, the less likely that will happen!" the big man said.

Pleasantries exchanged, the two men approached each other, solemnly shaking hands. "Been a long time, Edgar Barrett," the General said. "It's unfortunate Mindgate couldn't be bothered to better appreciate your talents."

"There's a reason these men will follow you anywhere," Barrett said, gesturing to the Marines standing guard around them- and the group of them that was escorting the disarmed Marines, the ones who had refused to switch sides, aboard the Super Osprey. "You're the General," Barrett said simply. "Without you Mindgate will fall to pieces. Ordinary soldiers as well as the Psi elite will soon know the Movement is the flag to fight under."

The General nodded, stepping aboard the Super Osprey as the last of the prisoners were loaded aboard, the guards stepped inside, and the ramp closed as the jet engines started to roar.

Staring up at his darkened office as the ramp closed, the General chuckled; a deep, rumbling sound. One of the Marines, seated to one side of the interior bay, looked up. "What's funny, General?" he said curiously. Barrett, nearly filling the troop bay with his impressive size, glared at the Marine, still focused on the plan of escape and not interested in idle talk. The General waved him down, though; there was no harm in a question when they were already lifting off the ground, right on schedule.

Krieger waved another hand dismissively as he faced north again, as if he could see Washington and that son of a bitch Peter Ferguson himself. "They thought you men would be able to stop me," the General laughed. "They thought you would _want_ to stop me!"

At this, the Marines did laugh; Barrett chuckled too, in spite of himself. As the Super Osprey lifted off the ground, raised its gear and with a roar vanished into the night sky as it streaked toward the Atlantic, Krieger turned his thoughts to the project ahead of him.

The discovery he'd made as a black-ops Marine Colonel had stunned Krieger; it had literally changed his life. Hunting for communist guerrillas, no less than Ho Chi Minh himself and his hardiest men holed up in the Himalayas, Krieger had found something else. Something much more important, buried far beneath the ancient monastery. Mindgate had been quite pleased at the discovery… but Mindgate would not be in possession of that object for much longer.

They'd called it Luna-1, the bigshot scientists at Mindgate. They'd hailed it as the central piece of humanity's most crucial puzzle; once the full power of the artifact it was part of was unlocked… the full potential of the human mind, it's truly limitless power, could at last be held by a single man.

William Krieger would be the first man to know that power- and contrary to what Barrett and the others believed, he'd also be the only one to wield it. For now, though, Krieger needed Barrett's help. He needed all those men and women who would be willing to follow him in pursuit of his goal, because for right now William Krieger did not have the kind of power he needed. The UN, the US and Mindgate were still too powerful; the Movement, even once Krieger escaped and took full control of it, would still be too covert and weak.

But one day soon… the Movement's red-white-and-black flag would fly in every city, all over the world. It was going to take years to build and prepare; it would take all of the General's brilliance to organize everything that would need to happen. But in the end, that day _would_ come about, and knowing that, Krieger was prepared to wait.

Krieger smiled. He was going to live to see that day, and many, _many_ more.

Because as everyone knew, _a god could never die_.


End file.
